The Way We Live Now
by Edward Carson
Summary: Three glimpses into the evolving nature of the relationship between Robert and Carson as they "navigate the choppy seas of change" in a POST SEASON 6 world. More on the life-long friendship between my Downton favourites.
1. Chapter 1: The Better Man

**THE WAY WE LIVE NOW ***

 **The Better Man**

Robert had not realized how much of a habit his Monday morning walks had become until the day Tom asked if he'd like to attend a farm auction in Bishop Wilton. ******

"I can't, Tom. I'm walking with Carson."

Somehow this quiet exchange permeated the hum of conversation at the breakfast table.

"You didn't mention that you had plans," Cora said, turning away from Mary. She herself was off to an all-day fundraising event in York.

"It's nothing formal," Robert admitted. "We've just been walking together and I suppose we've built up an expectation."

"How is Mr. Carson?" Tom was the only one at this table who ever referred to the former butler in this way. Occasionally he slipped and fell into conformity with the others, but this happened only in this company. When he spoke to any of the staff, to villagers or estate workers, or to Carson himself, he never lapsed into the family's usage. An outsider might have thought this the last vestige of Tom's earlier life at Downton when, as chauffeur during the war years, deference to the head of staff was expected of him. But anyone who knew Tom Branson realized that it was a reflection of his abiding regard for Carson.

"He's well," Robert said, his first inclination always to minimize discussion of sensitive topics.

The others made ready to leave on their various rounds and Robert stood up, too. He used to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, lingering over the papers, drinking another cup of coffee. But the pace of life had accelerated and although he resisted this change in tempo, he did not like the idea of being left behind, even in the dining rom. Especially if it meant being left behind with Mr. Barrow. Mr. Barrow was a good butler, but not someone with whom Robert wished to pass the time of day.

He watched as Andrew helped Cora on with her coat, and then escorted his wife out to the waiting car.

"How gallant of you!" Cora teased, and she leaned over to kiss him goodbye. "Robert, you might want to firm up your arrangements with Carson if you're going to walk with him every week."

"Why?" Robert was puzzled.

"Because he _may_ be expecting you," Cora told him. "And you shouldn't leave him dangling in uncertainty. He shouldn't have to wait around half the morning wondering whether you'll show up or not."

Robert shrugged. "He doesn't have to do that now."

Cora sighed a little at her husband's obtuseness. "But he will, Robert. This is Carson. He won't want to let you down."

He supposed she had a point. Going back into the house, he collected his coat and walking stick and then summoned Tiaa. She was at his side in an instant. " _You're_ the one with the expectations," he told the wiggling dog.

His awareness heightened by Cora's admonition, he paid more attention to Carson than usual when he arrived at the cottage on the lane. It took Carson a minute to open the door, so it didn't seem that he'd been waiting by the window. Robert issued the invitation and Carson accepted it, both of them as if it were the first time. Robert couldn't see how Carson would have acted much differently had he dropped off a package and carried on with Tiaa alone.

Carson had to get out his coat and search a little for his walking stick, grumbling about the efficiency of his wife's tidying up as he did so. And then they set out in the direction of Winfield Farm, which had pleasant paths with windbreaks that offered some respite from a steady cool breeze.

"I'd never taken you for much of a walker," Robert remarked conversationally as they descended into a patch of woods. He had spent a lifetime tramping the fields and groves and lanes of Downton and it had been a long time since he'd seen Carson anywhere but the house lawns, the village, and the cricket pitch.

"There is a great deal of walking involved in the work of a butler, my lord," Carson said mildly, breathing deeply. He loved the fresh air of Yorkshire on a crisp winter morning. He'd had little opportunity to appreciate it for decades past.

"Hmm," Robert grunted, never having thought of this.

"In fact," Carson went on, "someone did a study of some sort on that question a few months ago."

"On what?" Robert was puzzled.

"On how far a butler walked in a day."

"How does one go about measuring that?" Robert's bewilderment increased.

"Apparently the fellow who wrote it up followed a butler around all day, counting his every step. Then he measured the butler's stride and calculated the distance."

"And?" This wasn't a topic that would necessarily have excited Robert's imagination, but they were in the middle of it now and he wanted to know the - what was that word? - the punchline. ******* Carson, he thought impatiently, left much to be desired as a story-teller.

But Carson was deliberately playing it out, politely ignoring His Lordship's ignorance of this essential physical detail of a butler's life. "Nineteen-and-a-half miles," he said solemnly. ********

This stopped Robert dead in his tracks. " _Nineteen-and-a-half miles_?! Good golly! In a single day? I've never walked nineteen-and-a-half miles in a day in my life!"

Carson wondered if this were strictly true given His Lordship's enthusiasm for stalking. But the fundamental point was that a butler covered such distances _every_ day.

Silence reigned for several minutes while Robert digested this and Carson hoped for a new level of understanding about a butler's work.

"Where did you read this?" Robert inquired, after a while, and with due consideration of the revelation that Carson had walked much farther in his life in the corridors of Downton Abbey than Robert had in a lifetime around the whole estate.

"Mrs. Hughes brought it to my attention. It was in some magazine devoted to service."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose walking in the woods at Downton makes for more congenial exercise than climbing staircases or pacing corridors." He spoke breezily, stating the obvious. But Carson's silence was noticeable and Robert glanced at him.

"I _would_ rather be treading the stairs or pacing the Great Hall," Carson said quietly. "But that's done. And I do enjoy the English countryside and this landscape in particular. I've always loved Downton."

Robert acknowledged the legitimacy of Carson's wistfulness, but saw no point - as Carson clearly did not - in dwelling on things that could not be changed. He cast about for a diversion and found one in two horses cantering in the field just beyond the rim of trees, punctuating the air with the frosty clouds of their breath.

"I've always _walked_ Downton," he said. "My father, on the other hand, never walked when he could ride."

"I remember."

Robert smiled. "Sometimes I forget that you've been at Downton even longer than I have. Of course you remember my father's preferences in that regard. You would have saddled his horse for him when you were younger."

Carson shook his head. "My father rarely let me attend His Lordship," he said. "He felt it was his privilege as head groom to do that himself. But he did let me practice saddling the horse of His Lordship's heir," he added with a mischievous sidelong glance at Robert. They both laughed. *********

"Did you not like horses, Carson?"

"I liked them well enough."

"But not enough to follow in your father's footsteps."

They had never spoken much about their fathers, and far less about Carson's than about Robert's in any event. It had never occurred to Robert before to inquire about Carson's choice of career.

"My father had a gift when it came to horses, my lord. He cared for them as tenderly as a mother would her children. He knew their voices and their personalities. They understood each other. I could never aspire to that level of horsemanship. I wanted to do something that _I_ could be the best at."

It was the kind of testimonial Robert liked to hear about a man and he was glad Carson could speak so admiringly of his father. They were both fortunate that way. Not every man could say the same. "He was a good father, then. He taught you to take pride in your work and to aspire to greatness on your own account. And you achieved that."

Carson bowed his head at the praise. "Thank you, my lord."

It had been a placid and uneventful walk and Robert was just musing to himself about the pleasures of an invigorating stroll in good company when Carson's right arm went into spasm so suddenly and violently that he dropped his walking stick.

Robert stooped to pick it up, over Carson's protest, and then watched in a sort of mesmerized alarm as the tremors accelerated. And then was distracted by Carson, who glared at the offending appendage and uttered an oath in his frustration.

"Beg pardon, my lord."

Robert was touched that Carson had the wherewithal, even in his distress, to apologize for expressing his frustration. "Not at all," he said swiftly. When it was over he handed Carson back his stick, noting that he took it with his left hand.

"Does it hurt?" Although Robert usually distanced himself from the physical discomforts of others, he could not simply ignore this.

Drained, Carson shook his head. "No. Not of itself. Occasionally I bang into something. But not otherwise."

"And your father had it, too." Mary had imparted the details.

"Yes," Carson said shortly. "And it finished his career, too. He stayed at it too long. He was cleaning a horse's hoof and the pick slipped because of the shaking. Cut his hand very badly and that was it. It broke his heart to leave his horses. He went downhill quite rapidly after that."

Robert recognized in Carson's sober tones a mingling of sadness over the loss of his father and the woe of a shared calamity. He watched Carson closely and carefully considered his next words.

"He was a fine man, your father," he said gently. "But you must be a better one still, Carson. Your change of circumstances is unfortunate and I don't downplay it. But you must not surrender your will to live because of it."

Carson smiled ruefully and cast a sidelong glance at his companion. "My father had lost his wife and his horses, my lord. He was alone and lonely. I am neither and am grateful for it."

"I am glad to hear it."

They walked for a while without further conversation, their boots crunching on the frosty ridges of the path. On the old cow paths and country lanes Robert always slipped the lead from Tiaa, letting her range at will in the woods and fields through which they passed. Occasionally he threw a stick for her and Tiaa would tumble over herself in delight at the opportunity to stretch her limbs and exercise that inbred instinct to retrieve, proudly dropping her prize at her master's feet.

"She's a fine animal, my lord," Carson observed, as Tiaa raced after yet another stick, her enthusiasm undiminished by repetition. "Her Ladyship the Dowager knew what she was doing in choosing her."

Robert smiled indulgently. There were few things in life that gave him as much pleasure as the companionship of his dog. "She did indeed," he said. "Did you never have a dog? When you were a boy, I mean."

Carson shook his head. "There was a dog or two about the stable and the hounds for the hunt. But for my father, the horses were his pets. A dog would have been superfluous. And there is no place for a dog in the life of a servant."

Robert admitted this was so.

Perhaps under the influence of the information about the physical demands of a butler's life, Robert had subconsciously led them on a longer walk than they had taken on previous outings. This route brought them into the village just as the church bells tolled noon. As they wended their way up the high street in the direction of the road that led on to Downton Abbey, Robert noticed in the post office window an announcement for the auction Tom had gone off to and it reminded him of the conversation he'd had that morning with Cora.

"What do you say we make this a regular thing, Carson? this excursion on Monday morning. That way neither of us will be left up in the air about it." It did not occur to him that he was echoing his wife's words.

Carson appeared surprised by this, but pleasantly so. "I would enjoy that, my lord."

"There'll be the usual lapses," Robert went on, "as when we're in London for the Season..." He almost faltered at this. 1926 would be the first year in more than forty-odd that Carson - as footman or butler - would not be with the family for that part of their annul cycle. Robert tried to push through it. "...but I used to do much more walking and I'd like to get back to it."

Carson appeared not to notice. "I've always been a creature of habit," he said - a colossal understatement that brought a reflexive smile to Robert's face - "and I should appreciate the stability." _In this corner of my life_ , he thought, but did not say aloud.

Robert nodded, satisfied to have settled the matter and relieved to have gotten over that slight hiccough. Almost immediately another idea occurred to him. "I'm starving. Let's stop in at the Grantham Arms for lunch." His eyes had just lit on the sign up the street.

"Will they not be expecting you back at the Abbey?" Carson's tone was a neutral one, but the first thought in his head was of Mrs. Patmore and her preparations.

Robert shrugged. "Everyone's out. There would have been only me. They've got a telephone now in the pub, I understand..." He continued to speak as Carson rolled his eyes in dismay at this development. "I'll call the house from here."

Before they reached the door, Carson stopped in an awkward manner and Robert, suddenly attuned to the possibility of another attack, stopped with him.

Carson considered for a moment and then looked Robert squarely in the eye. "You must be able to speak freely about your activities and about developments at Downton, my lord, without concern for my feelings." So he had noticed the slight hitch at the mention of the Season. "Coming to terms with my... _retirement_...is a challenge for me and...sometimes...I find thoughts of Downton painful. But it is the life you - and Mrs. Hughes, too - live. And it is a world that I have loved all my life and will always have an interest in. Don't hold back on my account."

Robert gazed at his companion with no small measure of admiration. "Bravely spoken, Carson. And thank you."

They went into the pub, Tiaa trotting happily at their heels. The barkeep welcomed them with enthusiasm, delighted at the prospect of the custom of the Earl of Grantham and Mr. Carson, both notable personages in their own spheres.

As they made themselves comfortable at the table, exchanging as they did so greetings with villagers gathered for their lunch, Robert's eyes flickered in the direction of this man with whom he had spent a lifetime. Carson's words relieved him, but he knew that he would not give full rein to his musings about Downton. Not yet. Carson needed time to adapt. Fortunately, time was something that Robert could continue to give him.

 ***NOTE:** The title has been shamelessly swiped from Anthony Trollope's novel. It just fit.

 ****NOTE:** Bishop Wilton. No idea, really. It's a name I picked off the map of the area.

 *****NOTE:** According to the source-of-all-knowledge _Wikipedia_ , the term "punch line" or "punchline" first appeared in the _Merriam-Webster Dictionary_ in 1921. That's an American source, but I'm assuming that a little of the American world permeates Downton Abbey by 1926.

 ******NOTE:** _The Chronicles of Downton Abbey: A New Era_ includes an anecdote of the Duke of Richmond who put a pedometer into the pocket of his old butler and discovered that the man had walked nineteen-and-a-half miles in a day. I have adapted this information here. Jessica Fellowes and Matthew Sturgis, _The Chronicles of Downton Abbey_ , p. 48.

 *******NOTE:** I have altered Carson's personal history here. According to the Foreword by "Charles Carson" in _Downton Abbey: Rules for Household Staff_ , Carson came to Downton as a junior footman, having served his earlier apprenticeship as a hall boy at Thrushcross Grange near Ripon. _Rules for Household Staff_ , p. vii. According to Julian Fellowes, Carson's forbears were soldiers and servants and "His grandfather was a head groom - so he's middle middle-class..." _Chronicles of Downton Abbey_ , p. 38. I have altered these facts to fit my own Downton world. Here, Carson grew up on the estate and his father was the head groom there.


	2. Chapter 2: Surprises

**THE WAY WE LIVE NOW**

 **A Prior Engagement**

Cora looked up from the quarterly report she had spread on the sofa beside her with a perplexed expression on her face. "I thought you walked with Carson on Mondays."

Across the room, seated at his desk, Robert did not lift his eyes from the letter he was reading. "I do."

"But tomorrow is Wednesday and you're seeing him again?"

"I am," he said absently.

"And you can't cancel."

"Absolutely not. Tomorrow's special."

Cora sighed. "I'm not often free in the afternoons, Robert. I thought we might go into York and visit Tom and Henry in their shop."

Robert was momentarily distracted. "Why _are_ you so busy, my darling? The hospital never used to take up that much of Mama's time."

It was on the tip of Cora's tongue to say that Mama had been rather more effective at presiding than administrating, but decided to respond more kindly. "The amalgamation has made for a lot more work. How is Carson? He hardly comes here."

Robert's gaze stilled. "No. He finds it too uncomfortable."

"Still?" There was an edge of scepticism in her voice.

"His ailment isn't going to go away," Robert said defensively. "He must work things out in his own time." His word on this matter was final.

Cora tried another tack. "All this walking you're doing together. He must enjoy that."

"We both do."

"Talking about the old days. Reminiscing about how things were before the war."

An impatient sound escaped Robert and he twisted around in his chair to face her. "Really, Cora. You speak about us as if we were in our dotage."

She shuffled a few of her papers and said under her breath, "Well, if that's how you're going to act."

"We talk about the estate, of course," Robert went on, not having heard her. "The _future_ of the estate, as well as its past. And local politics. And _national_ politics. The issues of the day, that sort of thing. We share many of the same perspectives."

"You mean prejudices." She said this in a teasing way, although she also meant it. "What do you do when it rains?"

He sighed with exasperation. "We get wet."

She rolled her eyes. "Surely you don't go out in the pouring rain."

"No." Robert folded up the letter and set it neatly on top of the other papers before him. Now he turned around completely in the chair. "We don't. On those occasions when the weather's a bit rough, we stay in the cottage and read the papers. Carson fetches them in the village every morning."

"And you enjoy that?"

She wasn't being condescending, he realized. It was only that she could not imagine _him_ thinking this an amiable way to pass the time.

"I do," he said solemnly. Getting up, he came over to join her on the sofa, brushing aside a few of her papers to do so. "Very much. The Carsons' sitting room is quite comfortable." A forgotten moment suddenly recurred to him. "I don't know if I ever told you, but during that open house event we had last year, while I was recovering from my operation, a small boy escaped from his parents and came into the bedroom. We had a rather enlightening, if brief, conversation. He asked me why I lived in such a large house when I could easily sell it and buy something much smaller and cozier." He laughed. "It was an interesting perspective, really. Anyway, that is what it feels like to read the papers over a cup of tea in the Carsons' cottage. Cozy. Comfortable."

Cora smiled at the tale. "Have you told that story to Carson?"

Robert snorted. "Of course not. He would be affronted at the child's impudence and miss the point entirely!" They both laughed at the truth of this.

"So why is tomorrow so special?"

An impish grin spread across Robert's face. "I have a surprise for Carson."

Surprises, Cora thought, were things that ought largely to be avoided. She had never shared Robert's boyish enthusiasm for them And neither had she ever found Carson a receptive audience for the unanticipated. "Is it a good surprise?" she asked carefully.

Robert stared at her. "Who gives bad surprises!" Sometimes he found Cora a bit obtuse.

"Does this have something to do with the mysterious errand you had on Sunday afternoon?"

"It does," he said, and was clearly quite happy about it.

"Does Mrs. Hughes know about it?"

Robert's patience was wearing thin. "Really, Cora. You needn't worry. I know my audience here." He shook his head at her and then added, "Yes. We've spoken about it."

She was relieved. "And you won't let me in on the secret?"

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow," he said, smiling. "If it goes down well. And even if it doesn't."

"So you _aren't_ really sure about it."

"I am. Of course I am," he said firmly. "And by the way, darling, I'll need the car."

 **The Nature of Surprises**

Robert sat in the back of the car with Tiaa. Carson sat in the front seat with Mr. Stark. It was an arrangement that didn't lend itself well to conversation, but neither of them were bothered by it. Nor did the possibility of any other arrangement occur to either of them. They both liked things the way they had always been.

As they were getting into the car Carson had asked where they were going. "I'm sure I might offer more sound advice if I knew the subject on which you seek my views, my lord."

But Robert demurred. "I want your honest reaction in the moment, Carson." And that had been the end of it.

Travelling by car was one of the few conveniences of the modern age to which Carson had taken without serious resistance. He still preferred the train for distance travel and he remembered with fondness the comforting rhythms of a horse-drawn conveyance. But as to the latter, he remembered the inconveniences, too. Such an admission would have been heresy to his father, so he never said it aloud, as if to put it into words was some kind of betrayal of his father's memory.

They hadn't far to go - just the other side of Thirsk. Eventually they pulled into a narrow lane and drew up before a small, neat farmhouse and a few outbuildings. The three men got out, Mr. Stark opening the door for His Lordship. Tiaa lunged to the end of her lead and barked invitingly at the dog - a collie - that lay languidly by the farmhouse door, but the dog did not stir, though its alert eyes followed the visitors.

Carson was puzzled by their destination. "Are we here to look at something for the estate, my lord?" He spoke with some perplexity. He could see nothing here that might have relevance for Downton.

"No, Carson," Robert responded with an enigmatic smile, "we're here to look at something for you."

Before Carson could react to this curious statement, the door opened and a brisk woman, who wore the air of the sturdy Yorkshire farming wife and was wrapping her coat about her, descended the steps to meet them.

"Lord Grantham!" she called. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Mrs. Reardon."

They exchanged a few warm words and then Robert introduced Carson. "If you could wait here, please, Carson. Mrs. Reardon and I will be right back." With Tiaa in tow, he disappeared with the woman around the house in the direction of one of the outbuildings

Carson looked after His Lordship with resignation and then cast his eye about the yard. He did not like the disorder of farm yards. He'd enjoyed the chaos as a boy, but it was something he'd been glad to leave behind. Mr. Stark had already gotten back into the car and buried himself in the morning's paper. Mr. Stark, Carson had noticed, had a collection of papers and magazines tucked under his seat for just such occasions. This left Carson bereft of company except for the dog on the porch, whose presence he might not have noticed at all had Tiaa not drawn his attention to it. With a shrug, Carson moved in that direction.

"Hello," he said, coming to a stop at the steps.

The dog's ears pricked up, his dark eyes fixed on the visitor, and the great feathery tail slowly swished back and forth, but he remained by the door.

"Come here, then," Carson said firmly. "I'm not going up there."

To his surprise, the dog got up and walked to the edge of the porch. Then he sat and raised an inviting paw.

"I see you're a gentleman" Carson said, smiling, won over by the gesture. He released the paw and then ran his hand over the fine silky head and scratched behind the ears which had flattened down again along the dog's skull. It was a pleasant moment. Carson might never have had a dog of his own, but he had effectively lived with a dog all of his professional life, as His Lordship had never been without one. They had all been congenial creatures. He had no reason to anticipate ill will in this one or any other.

"Carson!"

He turned to see His Lordship and Mrs. Reardon reappearing around the house, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a lively black spaniel who strained at the end of a lead, desperately trying to keep up with Tiaa, who was just a step ahead.

"What do you think?" Robert asked heartily, coming to stand by Carson, as the two dogs tangled their leads and their bodies in a wrestling match at the men's feet.

"I don't understand, my lord," Carson said carefully, although he thought he might.

"It's a dog, Carson. I thought you should have a dog." Robert was undeterred by Carson's neutral response. "I didn't think you'd want a puppy. And when I saw a notice in the _Yorkshire Gazette_ last week about Mrs. Reardon's refuge, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. I looked in last Sunday and that little spaniel caught my eye. What do you think?"

Carson only continued to stare at the two dogs tumbling in the grass, while Mrs. Reardon valiantly attempted to untangle the little black dog's lead from Tiaa's.

"He's a King Charles," Robert said helpfully. "His name is Coal, and he's...four?" He looked inquiringly at Mrs. Reardon.

"Three."

"Three years old. Out of the puppy phase, but still quite energetic. And a friendly little beggar." Robert stooped to catch up the spaniel in his arms. "Tiaa loves him." He laughed as the spaniel energetically licked his face.

Carson almost imperceptibly drew back at this display which seemed to please His Lordship quite a lot. Not quite sure how to react, he sought a diversion and turned to Mrs. Reardon. "A refuge?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson. A dog refuge. We get quite a lot of abandoned dogs, in these parts. People who don't want the bother of it any more, or their dog gets sick and they don't have the heart to have it put down, poor things, so they leave 'em by the roadside instead. Some of them come all the way from York so's the dog can't get home again. You have to wonder about some people." She spoke bitterly.

"Quite so," Robert said, with feeling.

"The automobile has made it all possible. You couldn't dump your dog from a wagon the same way you can toss them from a motor car."

"Indeed." This bit of information had cast a bit of a pall over them.

"Anyway, I take them in, when I can," Mrs. Reardon continued, a little more cheerfully. "Now Coal here, he's a different story. He was a stray on the streets of Ripon. The constable finally got hold of him and brought him here as likely to find a home more quickly than in their miserable little pound in town."

"What do you think?" Robert asked again and Carson felt obliged to make some sort of a response, even if only a deflection.

"I'm not sure what Mrs. Hughes would think about this, my lord. We've never discussed it."

" _I've_ discussed it with her, Carson. I wouldn't make such a bold move without such a consultation."

"And she agreed?"

"She did." Robert's enthusiasm dimmed a little. He had noticed Carson's reserve. "It's only an idea, Carson. You said you'd never had a dog before and now you can. But it's not for everyone."

"It's not that, my lord," Carson said immediately. He'd never thought about getting a dog. Even as much as he enjoyed the weekly strolls with His Lordship and Tiaa it had never occurred to him that he might have his own companion. And he never wanted to hurt His Lordship's feelings either. But it wasn't about that. "It's only that this isn't quite the type of dog that suits me."

"Hmm." Robert stared down at the sprightly spaniel, wondering what he'd overlooked.

"Were I to get a dog," Carson continued slowly, "my preference would be for one with some substance about him. Like your dog," he said, turning to Mrs. Reardon, and pointing to the collie, who was lying down again, head on paws, but staring alertly at the cluster of people in his yard.

"You mean Shep?"

At his name, the collie's ears pricked up.

"But he's one of my rescues, too. He's quite reliable, so I let him have the run of the place. I don't think he's left the yard since they dropped him off."

"What's his story then?" Robert asked, sensing a shift in direction.

"Came from an old retired farmer over near Easingwold. Kept him as a pet. Never trained him up properly as a sheepdog. So when the old man died, his son didn't want Shep about the place. A working farm has no use for a dog that can't earn his keep."

"Is he always that quiet?" Robert found the dog's low energy somewhat unsettling. He liked a livelier dog.

"He's only ever barked once since he's been here, and that's when they drove away."

Carson was looking at the dog. Robert glanced between them and turned back to Mrs. Reardon. "And how old is he?"

"Four and a bit."

"Hmm." Robert handed the leads of the two young dogs to Mrs. Reardon and went over to the house. As he mounted the steps, the collie sat up. Robert spoke gently to him, reached out to pet him, and then crouched down beside him. He'd had a lifetime's experience with dogs and handled this one easily, checking his ears and teeth, ruffling his coat, examining his feet, running a hand over his frame. He looked up to see that Carson had followed him over to the porch.

"He's in good shape," Robert said, getting up and coming down to stand beside Carson. "And his disposition's pleasant enough. But, golly, what a lot of coat."

"He's got style, though, my lord."

Robert was a little taken aback at the intensity of Carson's comment. "What? Oh, yes, I suppose so." He watched as Carson extended his hand toward the dog and the animal leaned forward, pushing his nose against him.

"What do you think, then?" Robert asked again.

Carson shook his head. "I cannot make a decision such as this precipitously, my lord. I'll have to think about it. And speak to Mrs. Hughes, too. She'd want to see a dog before we brought it into our house."

This deflated Robert a little, but he nodded. "Of course. Well. Mrs. Reardon, thank you for your time."

She had scooped the little spaniel into her arms. "You're very welcome, my lord. It'll do my dogs well to have had you visit my little operation. It's good to get the word about."

Robert doffed his hat, took up Tiaa's lead, and led the way back to the car.

Carson felt a pang of guilt about spoiling His Lordship's surprise. "I hope you're not offended, my lord."

"Not at all, Carson. We must all choose our own friends." Mr. Stark scrambled from the car to open the door for His Lordship and Tiaa leaped eagerly into her accustomed place.

They were all startled by a single sharp bark and their attention drawn back to the house. The collie was standing now on the porch, ears upright, eyes fixed on them. Robert's gaze shifted cautiously from the dog to Carson who appeared to be wavering.

Robert thought to press the moment. "What do you think, Carson?"

"I think," Carson said slowly, "that Mrs. Hughes might make a more informed decision if she were actually to _see_ the dog." He hesitated for a moment and then looked shrewdly at Robert. "What do _you_ think, my lord?"

Robert grinned. "I'm sure you're absolutely right."

Feeling as though a weight had shifted from him, Carson turned toward the dog. "Come, Shep," he called firmly.

The collie came, not bounding excitedly as Tiaa might have done, but quickly. He sat at Carson's side and raised his eyes in eager anticipation of a new command.

"He has good form," Robert observed, watching the dog's approach. He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a lead. "Just in case," he said, smiling, as he handed it to Carson.

Mrs. Reardon hurried over to them, the spaniel still in her arms. "Has Shep found a home with you, then, Mr. Carson?"

"I believe so, Mrs. Reardon."

Robert drew his wallet from an inside pocket. "You will allow me to make a donation to your refuge, Mrs. Reardon, in gratitude for your assistance." He handed her a few notes.

Carson made a sound of protest. "If it is to be my dog, my lord, then this is something that I..."

"I'm afraid not, Carson. I meant you to have a dog as a gift from me, and I am pleased that it is the right dog."

The transaction made, the two men, dog leads in their hands, turned back to the car once more and confronted a new dilemma.

"I suppose he'll have to get in the back," Robert mused, frowning a little.

"Well, there's not much room in the front, my lord," Carson pointed out. Between lord and butler there had always been carefully drawn lines, but the course of their decades-long relationship allowed nevertheless for considerable latitude in their exchanges. "It was your idea," Carson reminded him.

"I was anticipating a spaniel," Robert retorted, but he smiled good-naturedly all the same. "Come on then, Shep." The collie leaped onto the seat as if it belonged there. With a sigh, Robert clambered into the car and squeezed himself between the two dogs. Mr. Stark closed the door behind him and then went round to get in.

Before he took his own seat, Carson caught Robert's eye. "Thank you, my lord."

Robert, hearing all that was in these words, smiled in satisfaction, content in the success of his surprise.


	3. Chapter 3: Fundamental Truths

**THE WAY WE LIVE NOW**

 **Things You Would Understand**

The children romped ahead of them, chasing butterflies and crickets, and tumbling over each other and Tiaa in the fresh grass. Sybbie took the lead, but George gamely kept up, his eye not quite so quick, his hands not quite so coordinated as those of his older cousin. But he laughed easily and Sybbie seemed to enjoy his company. Tiaa capered about them, still a slightly awkward young dog, although every once in a while there were glimpses of gracefulness there. Shep circled all three, scouting hazards, keeping them corralled, and occasionally nipping at an errant heel.

Robert and Carson kept to the paths even as they maintained a close eye on the frolicking children.

"I can't remember the last time I had the children entirely under my own supervision," Robert said, oblivious to the fact that this was not the case even now and that Shep was doing most of the work. "I thought Shep hadn't been trained as a sheepdog."

"Instinct, I think," Carson said. "He does a lot of things he hasn't been trained to do." A dog of his own was still a novelty for Carson, but he'd already developed the idea, perhaps innate to dog-owners, that his pet was special. With a single sharp bark, Shep alerted him to the presence of visitors in the lane, to the boiling of the kettle, and to Mrs. Hughes's imminent arrival at the end of the day. These were behaviours possibly to be expected of a shepherding dog. But Shep had also demonstrated an ability to anticipate Carson's tremors and faithfully appeared at his master's side seconds before they started. This had restored Carson's control of if not his infirmity then at least the circumstances of its eruption. He hadn't dropped a bottle, spilled tea, or hit his hand against anything since Shep had arrived. To a man with little awareness of a dog's abilities, this appeared to Carson as nothing short of miraculous.

"I was a little worried about making such an expedition without Nanny," Robert said, "but Shep serves just as well." He watched Sybbie collapse in a laughing heap, trying to hold off an enthusiastic Tiaa who was determined to lick her face. "Tiaa, meanwhile, is like a third child."

"How is Lady Mary?" Carson asked conversationally.

Robert smiled. It was a question Carson never failed to ask, even if he'd seen Lady Mary himself the day before. "She's very well. Still insisting on carrying on with her administrative duties, of course. But Mr. Talbot and Mr. Branson have laid down the law about tramping about the farms. And Clarkson's chimed in on that one as well. There will be no wagon rides through the glen or Ghillies Ball excitement for her this time, Carson. Or their equivalents," he added a bit soberly, the thought of the sold-off castle at Duneagle and the fun the Crawleys had had there and never would again distracting him for a moment. "We can both breathe more easily about that."

At several scenic vistas and pastoral tableaux around the estate, the estate workers had erected benches for the family's quiet contemplation, and as their meadow path turned into a quiet wood the walkers found one. Robert led the way to it. The children scampered over to a nearby stream.

"Don't fall in!" Robert warned them, sounding fierce. He wouldn't have thought it a great tragedy if they got their feet wet, but no doubt they would all get into trouble back at the Abbey if they did. Nannies might be necessities but they were also, Robert had always thought, a tiresome lot. George and Sybbie laughingly assured him they wouldn't and Shep went after them determined, if no one else was, to make sure they did not. Tiaa had already plunged right in.

Carson joined His Lordship in sitting on the bench and did so almost, but not quite, unthinkingly. They had had to come to a few understandings with regard to habits of deference on their solitary walks, and the concession of the servant sitting in the presence of his lordship was one of them. Robert noticed these things far less than Carson did.

"I've been thinking quite a bit about Lady Mary's baby recently," Robert said.

"Not surprisingly," Carson murmured, his eyes, and Robert's, too, fixed on the children.

"Yes, of course. But..." Robert started to speak, hesitated, and then lapsed into an awkward silence.

Sensitive from a lifetime's practice to His Lordship's moods, Carson glanced at him. "Is something wrong, my lord?"

Robert shifted uneasily. "Not wrong. Not exactly. It's only that...I've been thinking lately that if Mary has a son, he will be a Talbot, not a Crawley."

Carson remained attentively silent.

"It's not something I had to think about before. Had Mary married Patrick Crawley the name would have been secure. And then, of course, there was Matthew - Mr. Crawley again - and, Master George as a result. I'm not even counting Carlisle here," he said darkly. They both heaved a sigh of relief at the memory of that narrow escape. "But I hadn't given any consideration to the matter at all when Lady Mary married Mr. Talbot. It's only now, when they might have a son, that's it come up."

"What...exactly...is troubling you, my lord?"

The whole business made Robert uncomfortable, but it had been weighing, perhaps irrationally, on his mind. And he couldn't talk to Cora about it. She would be appalled. And she would probably have been in the right.

"I don't even know why it's bothering me. Maybe it's the lingering impact of the war, so many of the great families decimated, their heirs killed, family names made extinct. George is a fine, healthy boy. And he _is_ a Crawley. But one doesn't take the longevity of youth as much for granted any more, not since the war. My problem, Carson," and he turned slightly so as to gauge Carson's reaction, "is that I'm unhappy about even the remote prospect of Downton passing into the hands of someone other than a Crawley. Into the hands of a Talbot, though I've not got anything against the Talbots in particular. It's just the loss of the Crawley line I would regret. Am I being ridiculously small-minded here?"

It was a serious matter for Carson to address, but one that fell within the realm of his world. He measured his words carefully. "Mrs. Hughes would say that you were borrowing trouble, my lord. Your succession is secure in Master George and the estate will be in Lady Mary's hands - as a Talbot - for some time before the Crawleys are restored to it."

"Hmm." Robert hadn't thought of that.

"But I understand your concern, my lord," Carson went on, recognizing that his role here was to soothe His Lordship's feelings of guilt, rather than to resolve the issue. "There have been Crawleys at Downton for a century and a half, and the Crawley name goes back well before the Reformation." They both knew exactly how far - it wasn't necessary to review that history in its specifics. "That kind of tradition dies harder in the heart and mind than in the physical world. One does not surrender such stability easily."

Robert smiled ruefully. "Well, you and I don't. But _are_ my thoughts ungenerous? Perhaps I should be satisfied with the blood connection and dismiss my apprehensions about the extinction of the name."

"With Master George it is unlikely that the name _will_ become extinct, my lord. But I do not judge you harshly, or at all, for your attachment to a family tradition, because I understand it. There will be no more Carsons at Downton Abbey when _I_ am gone." He said this quietly. It was something to which he had reconciled himself long ago when he made the choices he had with regard to his life and career. But it was also something that had, perhaps, become more important with age and he did not really like to dwell on it.

Robert turned to him. "In one fell swoop, Carson, you have both restored my perspective and shown me how selfish my concerns have been. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord. It's always useful to be able to work out a worry in words."

"Yes," Robert mused. "Indeed." He gave a humourless laugh. "I think it was brooding about the war. It led me to entertain doubts about George's future. But it's not as if we'll face another calamity of _that_ magnitude in this century." *****

Their little cavalcade moved on. The children took each other's hand and skipped ahead of them down the path, Tiaa trying to come between them, Shep continuing to circle round.

"Mr. Branson's return meant so much to us in so many ways," Robert said after a while, his eyes resting on Sybbie. He wondered sometimes if his distant father had loved Mary, Edith, and Sybil as much as Robert loved his own grandchildren. It had been impossible to tell. "The reunion was very good for George. I think children ought to have playmates in the nursery."

"They are sweet children," Carson said agreeably, and Robert knew him to be completely sincere. Carson had always been on good terms with the children at Downton. "I do miss Miss Marigold, though," he added.

They had never spoken about Marigold. At the mention of her name, Robert glanced sharply at Carson, wondering. They walked on in silence for a few minutes while Robert considered the matter. He found himself feeling ill at ease with the lie of Marigold's history between them. Robert was not eager to betray his daughter's secrets, but neither did he think it reasonable to conceal from this man who stood so closely to his family this essential truth. And in some corner of his mind he wanted...something...from Carson. Approval? Acceptance? Not rejection? He didn't really know.

"Miss Marigold is Lady Edith's daughter," he said bluntly.

A long pause ensued. Robert watched carefully. Carson's expression did not change. Was that his lifelong exercise of self-restraint concealing an inner revulsion? Robert waited.

"I know, my lord."

Robert was no amateur in the ranks of a restrained response to shocking news. That, after all, was the hallmark of his class. But this took him completely by surprise. "What?!"

Carson hazarded a glance at him. "I know," he repeated simply.

Robert's breath escaped him in a sound that reflected both relief and exasperation. Did _everyone_ know his family's secrets? He sighed. "I suppose downstairs always know everything," he said, acknowledging a reality of a great house.

"Not everyone," Carson said circumspectly.

"And?" The shock value of his revelation having fallen flat, Robert wanted to know where Carson stood.

Carson did not quite know how to put it. His life had not prepared him for such conversations. He considered the matter for a few moments and Robert waited him out patiently. This was not the moment to rush to words.

"I might say, my lord, that everyone makes mistakes. But 'mistake' is not the word that comes to mind whenever I have looked upon that dear little girl."

Robert swallowed hard and said nothing. They walked on, both of them paying particular attention to the children who continued to bound about playfully before them.

"I'm finding myself easing off on some things, Carson," Robert said, at length, "things I once thought so very important. Sometimes this troubles me. If I were only consistent when it came to the relaxation of rules, it might be easier to accept. But in every instance it's entirely personal. When it comes to my daughters..." His voice drifted off.

"It's only natural, my lord, to love your children," Carson said reassuringly.

"Of course," Robert said. "Well. You understand." On the other side of it now, and knowing Carson as he did, he wondered how he could ever have doubted.

Carson cast him a bewildered look. "My lord?"

Robert stared right back at him. "Carson, don't let's pretend Lady Mary hasn't had her fair share of indiscretions. I'm certain that business with Mr. Pamuk gave you a few sleepless nights."

This was something else they had never spoken about, not least because Carson had known about it years before Robert did and this was a source of some irritation to Robert. Naturally Carson had kept Mary's secret, as he always had. And Robert was certain that it must have been a painful struggle for Carson to reconcile the demands of the propriety to which he was so wedded with his expectations of the young woman he loved so much. And love had won, as there was abundant proof.

"How are the plans for the houses in Pipp's Field?" Carson asked abruptly. "I understand you've encountered some resistance from the families who live in the lane below."

"We have," Robert responded warmly, welcoming this quite deliberate change in the direction of their conversation, and not skipping a beat in embracing it. "But Lady Mary has it well in hand. The main objections, I think, are..." He expounded on them at some length.

A renewed sense of ease enveloped them. They knew where they stood now and neither of them wanted to explore these sensitive subjects any further.

 **Some Fundamental Truths**

"So you survived your morning with the children?" It was the first thing Cora said to him after kissing him hello, joining Robert, Tom, Mary, and Henry in the library for tea later in the day.

"It was a lot of fun," Robert told her with a grin.

"And Mr. Carson?" Tom asked. "Is he still in one piece?"

Robert made an impatient sound. "Oh, he's a natural with the children. And an impressive story-teller."

Cora glanced at Mary. "Well, we knew that."

"Carson kept me entertained by the hours when I was a little girl," Mary told Henry. "Somehow the dreary history lessons my governess tried to impart came alive when Carson was telling me the stories."

Tom joined Mary and Henry by the fireplace. "You set this up, didn't you?" he asked in an undertone.

"I didn't make Nanny sick, Tom!" Mary said indignantly. And then she smiled mischievously. "But I did think it would shake them up a bit, the two of them, to spend some time with the children. And look at the effect on Papa."

"And we had Shep with us," Robert said. "He's as good as Nanny. And a lot less expensive."

"Robert!"

Mention of the dog drew Mary's attention to her father. "Papa, have you ever seen Carson's dog anticipate his tremors?"

"What? Is it a mind-reader, this dog?" Henry looked a little sceptical.

"I have," Robert said. "Today. And he _does_ predict it. All morning he never left the children but once, and then very suddenly. He came to Carson's side and then the shaking started. It was uncanny. But then," he added, "dogs really are remarkable creatures."

No one else had had quite the same communion with a dog as Robert had, so they passed over this observation.

"Did the children notice?" Mary frowned a little. Such attention would surely have seriously discomfited Carson. She hadn't thought about that.

"They did. And came over to watch."

Tom grimaced. "That must have been an awkward moment."

"It wasn't, actually," Robert said lightly. "You know children. They have no pity. They were curious, he explained, they accepted what he said, and moved on when it was over. It sort of...normalized it."

"You just never know, do you." Cora shook her head.

"By the way," Robert added, "I told Carson about Marigold."

"Why?" Cora was taken aback. When Robert had joined the exclusive club in awareness of Edith's secret, they had agreed that it was best not to tell anyone. Even Mary had been excluded until recently.

"I thought he should know," Robert said. "I wanted to be able to speak freely of _all_ my grandchildren with him."

"How did he react?" Cora asked. Cora had never given Carson's opinion as much consideration as Robert did, but the matter of Edith and her daughter was close to her heart and she was sensitive to the responses of anyone to it.

Mary made an exasperated noise that drew all eyes to her. "How do you think? Edith is _Papa's_ child. Marigold is a _little girl_. Right there you have two of the things Carson cherishes more than anything. He'd have found some way to rationalize it all for the good."

Tom grinned at her. "I hope you would include Mrs. Hughes in that list," he said playfully.

Mary rolled her eyes at him. "Of course. _And_ me."

Tom just shook his head and turned to Henry. "Do you find this world as strange as I do?"

"Robert?" Cora persisted.

"Oh, he already knew," Robert said offhandedly. "And," he gestured toward Mary, "it was as Mary said."

"The servants always know everything," Cora said, as if this were an unalterable truth.

"Well, Mrs. Hughes does," Robert said.

No one was going to argue with that.

 ***NOTE:** Robert's assumption that the Great War would be the only calamity of its kind in the twentieth century strikes me as completely in character for him. Whenever Robert says something awful couldn't possibly happen, we always know to expect it imminently.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This short series focusing on the friendship between Robert and Carson has helped me to work through my aggravation at the events of the Christmas Special with regard to Carson. I thank all readers and reviewers for indulging me in it. The antidote to this sometimes sentimental journey may be found in the follow-up story "Enough of That."


End file.
